


The Wanting Comes in Waves

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>That look, earlier in the yard, had been a promise.</i>
</p>
<p>Porthos and Aramis resettle the unsteady ground around them as Porthos admits that he'll never have a soldier's wife and Aramis offers him a soldier's companion, instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wanting Comes in Waves

That look, earlier in the yard, had been a _promise_.

Aramis isn’t so dense to ignore that fact, but he had never expected Porthos’ assault to happen so quickly upon their return to the garrison with D’Artagnan’s commission hot in his hands and drinks flowing copiously amongst the regiment. “Aramis,” Porthos murmurs. “A word.” Athos glances up past the brim of his hat and regards Aramis questioningly, as if to wonder what he’s done now.

The trouble of it is that Aramis isn’t sure. True, he had forgotten the widow’s name and had made several biting comments, but Porthos hadn’t seemed to care once the dust had settled. Perhaps there’s some task he requires aid with, but Aramis cannot imagine why it couldn’t wait.

He watches Porthos retreat to his room – the furthest in the corner, one he’d held onto since he’d claimed it. Aramis settles his hat upon his head firmly, clapping D’Artagnan on the shoulder with congratulations. 

“The widow?” Athos questions.

“They live two different lives,” Aramis replies, aware that he wears relief upon his expression as though a widow might wear her mourning colours. It is evident for the world to see and a sign of one’s affections. “I believe she did not appreciate the violence.”

“No one appreciates it like you do,” D’Artagnan mumbles, having dug deep into his drinks as though he is mourning and celebrating at once. “You like watching it when things are falling apart, better yet if they’re being broken.”

Aramis watches Athos _understand _and he feels himself freeze as the awareness that Athos’ comprehension could be a very dangerous thing hits him. “Be careful,” Athos warns, but says nothing more. He does not let on that he knows or that he thinks it a bad idea. In truth, Aramis should not be so stupid to imagine that Athos does not already know.__

__Athos has probably known since they first began their convenient dalliance._ _

__“With Porthos? Always,” Aramis assures, ignoring the revelry surrounding him as he wanders up the stairs towards Porthos’ room, where his door lies open as if bearing him invitation. He takes a deep breath and walks the last few steps in the room, closing the door behind him and hanging his hat and cape up on the hooks at the door’s back._ _

__Porthos sits on the end of the bed, staring forward as though he has achieved a state of frozen shock._ _

__“I hope you’re not planning to shout at me,” Aramis says, turning in time to see the blur of motion that is Porthos when he truly wants to move quickly. “No,” he says, the instant he understands what’s happening._ _

__The promise from earlier had been Porthos’ look to Aramis as he hauled their brethren Musketeer from the ground, throwing him over his shoulder as easily as a sack of flour. The look on his face had promised that it would be Aramis soon and Aramis had signed the covenant by reacting as he had, with the effort of restraint._ _

__“Porthos,” Aramis growls, but it does nothing. Porthos hauls Aramis onto his shoulders as if he were light as a feather, carrying him in the direction of the bed before he is _thrown_ down upon it like a maiden in an old, grim fairytale. The bed heaves and creaks with the sudden weight, alarmingly so. Aramis entertains his fear that it will splinter and call the Musketeers attention to the racket, bringing the very real possibility to life that they will be caught _in flagrante_. “I hate when you do that,” Aramis accuses._ _

__“Then look like you do when you watch me do it,” Porthos counters. His temper is flaring quicker than it usually does and Aramis knows this is the hurt that Alice had caused. This is Porthos trying to acclimate back to the life that had taken him in._ _

__Because, for the briefest of moments, Porthos had considered leaving and he had thought it a wonderful thing._ _

__Porthos crawls over Aramis’ body on all fours, settling into a straddle and shoving his palm in between them, unlacing Aramis’ breeches in order to ease his hand inside, stroking Aramis’ cock with more care and more devotion than an angry man has any business of doing. Aramis’ breath shudders as he bows his forehead against Porthos’, his fear at the other man leaving finally cresting over the surface and crashing as if a tidal wave._ _

__“You like that, don’t you?” Porthos murmurs._ _

__They have been doing this for years because, in truth, Porthos knows precisely what Aramis likes and the both of them have vowed their lives to the Musketeers. There are women, of course there are women, but only Porthos knows how to make Aramis come apart._ _

__“You, while you were fucking the Madame,” Porthos growls in Aramis’ ear as he slides his palm over Aramis’ cock, other hand tracing fading fingerprint bruises on Aramis’ hip until Porthos finds the place where his fingers belong._ _

__Those marks belong to Porthos._ _

__They are the phantom claims that Porthos owns a part of him and Aramis dreads thinking that they might have faded if Porthos had gone off with the lovely widow and found themselves a new life. “She sung with pleasure,” Aramis replies, falling into the old pattern of bickering while Porthos makes Aramis shudder and gasp and plead. “High little notes.”_ _

__“Did the dogs watch?” Porthos demands smugly._ _

__Aramis glares._ _

__He refrains from replying that only _three_ of them had found the squeaking bedsprings to be any sort of entertainment. “Can we please not talk about widows?” Aramis exhales the words, aware that this is the usual repartee, but there is something that feels terrible about how they inch and dance around the genuine connection Porthos had formed with a lovely woman who could have taken his best friend away from Aramis._ _

__Porthos bows his head, nodding as if chastised._ _

__“Could you have loved her?” Aramis asks, breaking his own rule._ _

__Another nod._ _

__“As you love me?”_ _

__This nod, however, shakes side to side and Porthos looks up with fear in his eyes. “I would’ve left,” he says, biting a kiss into Aramis’ neck and eliciting a broken cry as he rubs his thumb over the head of Aramis’ cock. “Left the regiment to travel with her, but then boredom would’ve come and I’d do something stupid. Get in fights, get drunk, maybe even come look for you...suppose I was just eager for something I didn’t have to worry about. Marriage, a respectable one...”_ _

__He needn’t finish his thought. Aramis knows what Porthos yearns for._ _

__He wants acceptance. He wants to be loved._ _

__Aramis wishes he could provide enough, but he is subject to his own whims and desires and could never be good enough for Porthos, who is the best of them all. Perhaps Aramis’ judgment is clouded, but his love for his best friend places him above all others in the world, as far as he is concerned._ _

__Aramis licks his lower lip and guides Porthos’ lips to his, cupping his cheeks possessively tight so that he can kiss him and control the kiss, not relinquishing an inch as Aramis sways forward, easing the momentum in his favour as he turns the tables, getting Porthos on his back while Aramis looms above him, his erect cock in Porthos’ trusty hands. “You frightened me to death,” Aramis says, knowing that in this locked room, he can air his worries and understand they will not be heard in the world._ _

__“Why?” Porthos asks, clueless as ever as Aramis threads his fingers through Porthos’ curls, holding him as if he might drift away if he’s let go._ _

__“You nearly left,” Aramis says, as if Porthos can’t possibly be so clueless. “You jest, but I do need you. And if you were to go...” Aramis’ lips quirk upwards with a playful grin, though it falters when his mouth forms a soft circle when Porthos pushes Aramis back on the bed, replacing hand with lips. “Do you truly think Athos would do this in your place?”_ _

__Porthos replies with a low chuckle, but neglects to reply._ _

__Given the placement of his lips and mouth, Aramis is happy to be ignored as Porthos works his mouth deep, teaching Aramis that there are lessons learned in Court that can be applied all through life. The hollowing of Porthos’ cheeks and the torchlight playing off his skin is the most beautiful thing Aramis has ever seen and he has a wealth of beautiful women to compare him to._ _

__“Porthos,” Aramis groans deeply, hips arching off the bed, but Porthos does not ease back. He merely swallows him deeper. “My _god_ , Porthos, you brute,” Aramis accuses with wonder and delight, vision a trouble as he struggles to keep his eyes open. _ _

__He grips Porthos’ hair in warning, but Porthos only stays where he is, swallowing and lapping Aramis’ come off his lips after Aramis had sworn his prayers and exaltations aloud in Spanish, his whole body feeling as though it’s come unhinged.  
Porthos takes the opportunity to slide his fingers through Aramis’, coaxing their joined hands down to where Porthos’ cock presses against Aramis’ hip. There’s a laziness in how they bring Porthos off. There is no rush, no hurry, and Aramis wants to draw this out as long as he can. In this room, in Aramis’ room, they are safe to do this and there is no one else. Treville’s orders cannot broach this door, Athos’ judgment is long away, and the King’s expectations are a far thought._ _

__Porthos hums Aramis’ name when he comes, sounding as if he’s swearing fealty to him and Aramis has never loved him more._ _

__“I meant it, you know,” Porthos mumbles, when they’re well and settled, curled around one another as if they’re both seeing the spectre of the life that could have been, in which Porthos would have warmed a different bed, tonight. “I don’t know if I’d ever leave to marry. I can’t give up soldiering and who’d want to be a soldier’s wife?”_ _

__“Then perhaps a soldier’s companion will do?”_ _

__Porthos grunts, as if he’s considering the prospect. “Pity you don’t have half her money. I could’ve gotten used to a home like that.”_ _

__Aramis knows there are things Porthos will miss about the lovely widow; that there had been more to her than a house and a promise of escape, but Aramis is lucky. He’d nearly lost Porthos, but now he’s not only earned a reprieve, but the knowledge that Porthos does not plan to stray very far, at all._ _

__“I will endeavour to make up for it,” Aramis assures him. “How shall I start?”_ _

__“In the morning,” Porthos protests, his sleepy ministrations of his fingertips along the trail of hair at Aramis’ underbelly both soothing and arousing at once. Aramis moves the hand upwards, until Porthos’ fingertips are splayed over his heart. “Better,” Porthos opines._ _

__Aramis couldn’t agree more._ _

__“In the morning,” Aramis murmurs, eyes falling shut, “I will begin to make up for my failings, not being a rich widow with a healthy endowment.”_ _

__“Endowed in other ways,” Porthos sleepily retorts._ _

__“That, I am. You’d best not forget it.”_ _

__“Tomorrow, I’ll let my mouth remember it again.”_ _

__“Good man,” Aramis says. As Porthos falls to sleep, Aramis casts a look at him and this look, too, is a promise. This promise is not to let Porthos out of his sight for as long as he might manage, for their lives are on the same path so long as Aramis ensures that neither of them strays too far._ _

__And, being a perfect soldier’s companion, he will do precisely that._ _


End file.
